Lately, I’ve been going on hikes to prepare for an upcoming road trip. On the weekend, no matter the weather, I spend my morning at my local state park. There is a five mile loop that goes along the river and up into the bluffs. It’s a great place to train and an even better place to think.
This morning, rain was in the forecast and I had the trail all to myself. One of my favorite things about hiking is the way the cadence of my footsteps pushes my brain to places that feel high and rich. As I scrambled over rocks, past trees, and up high hills, I found myself deeply moved by spring.
In Minnesota, spring comes slowly. It comes in waves of warm and cool weather, rain and sun, green grass and sticky mud.
On the trail, most of the forest was still brown and dead. The leaves were just starting to peek forth–a green blush against the rainy sky. The ground was scattered with little flowers–pink and white and purple and yellow.
What a miracle it is, that life emerges from the bare earth. It reminds me that there will come a day where there will be no more crying, no more pain, no more injustice.
Spring comes forth in quiet radiance, whispering of life and peace and, best of all, hope.